


Sweet Obsession (Oh Brother, Where Have You Been?)

by soulmateswinchesters



Series: wicked game!verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is 21, M/M, Obsessive Dean, Raised Apart, Sam is 17, Serial Killer Dean Winchester, Slightly Masochistic Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmateswinchesters/pseuds/soulmateswinchesters
Summary: It was wrong but it felt good; serial killer confessions making Sam feel at home.





	Sweet Obsession (Oh Brother, Where Have You Been?)

It's not like the whole world changed when he killed for the first time.

There were no red lights, no God looking down at him with anger or disgust. There was only silence. Relief. He felt like he could finally breath again, connecting with a kind of power and excellence that no human being could really understand.

His first victim was even more beautiful after he killed her; cold and dead, lying on the ground with miles and miles of pale skin exposed to the world.

She reminded Dean of his mother.

Long, blonde curls, black eyelashes and her mesmerizing, green eyes — now empty and absent. The girl, Gillian, looked breathtaking. Death was definitely a good look on her. Dean couldn't help but smile when he kneeled down to gently stroke her cheek.

In that moment he knew that he wouldn't ever be able to regret what he did that night.

The girl didn't ever see it coming. Minutes before her life has been taken away form her, she was probably feeling like the luckiest girl in the world; sharing hungry kisses with the hottest guy she's ever seen and memorizing those full, soft lips.

It's not that he had been planning to kill her. Not for a long period of time, at least.

Sure, he already had his eyes on that pretty girl next door for some time. He could appreciate a good looking woman when seeing one.

She was staying with her parents at the same motel as him. They talked a few times and he ended up liking her. Dean enjoyed their small talks and visualized her face covered in blood during them.

He dreamt about it, too; her giggles turning into desperate cries for help in those dreams.

It never failed to make him feel at peace.

Even that day, when they went out on a _date_ in the nighttime, he still wasn't sure if he was actually going to kill her.

It all happened because of some impulse he felt.

Violent urges took over and, with no second guessing, he just went for it.

She did not except the sharp pain that she suddenly felt somewhere in her side. Gillian looked up at the boy who was kissing her with such passion just a few seconds ago. Her eyes were filled with confusion and betrayal.

She wanted some answers but all she could find on that resplendent face was a deadly smile and emerald eyes shinig in the dark. Wasn't it supposed to be her perfect summertime romance?

In the last minutes of her life, everything was suddenly so... vivid.

She could feel Dean's warm breath on her skin — now only making her feel nauseous and shaky. There were so many emotions messing with her in that moment; after confusion and betrayal came the anger. For a second, there was also that stupid, dramatic sadness and, finally — pure terror. Realization.

She was slowly bleeding out, unable to say anything; fly-by-night bird's songs ringing in her ears as she passed away without ever saying her last words.

  
For Dean, it was but a nice memory that he really liked going back to.

To be completely honest, Dean wasn't ever happy.

Gratification was something that he barely even remembered now but after his first kill, at the age of seventeen, he found the tiniest bit of consolation in life. He finally had a way to quiet his toughts. The memories of the apple pie life he used to live years ago and long forgotten wholesome feelings were becoming less cumbersome now — he learnt to find some inspiration in them, turn them into something else than his own suffering.

Dean wasn't really human anymore either. His humanity was taken from him in the most cruel way possible, tearing him apart piece by piece. Somehow, after the fire and his mother's death, things only became even worse. Him, his father and his angel of a little brother became a family of three for a couple of years. They didn't have a home anymore after that night when Mary Winchester burned in flames; their house in Lawrence reaking of ashes and death and they just couldn't stay there. Just a few days after that tragedy, Dean's father had his children in the backseat of his car; driving as far aways as he could before tiredness finally got him and they had to stay somewhere for the night. It was the beginning of their life on the road.

Dean associated his childhood with hero worship and his sleepy little brother looking for goodnight cuddles and comfort in his older sibling. He associated it with his father's car, the smell of gasoline, an open road and cheap motel rooms (he tried to trick himself that it wasn't the reason why, after all these years, he still only stayed at motels with stained, dirty sheets).

This part of his life wasn't ever that bad, honestly. Maybe there were no more Mary's lullabies and forehead kisses but he had Sammy now. And Sammy was worth it.

Dean's little brother quickly became the apple of his eye; every smile on the child's face feeling like Dean's own little victory because he was the one to make Sam smile. It didn't matter if he was making Sammy some Lucky Charms for breakfast or if they were just making stupid faces at each other.

It felt like home and everything that he ever needed.

They were growing up in John's '67 Chevy, but, going back to these memories, it was nothing but _perfect_.

Then, there was the accident.

Someone decided to make him into an orphan that day.

Dean desperately wished that he was there with his father and brother but no matter how much he wanted to change the past, he didn't possess such power.

That day, he was supposed to wait in the motel, study a little and let his dad and Sammy buy some groceries. He couldn't wait to tell his younger sibling about that silly cartoon he found on the TV. They were going to spend some time as a family and there was nothing more important to little Dean than that. Family was everything. What was _never_ supposed to happen was that fucking accident; the accident that killed his dad and took his little brother away from him. And it was all because of some stupid fucker that hit the two with his car.

Dean only knew about all of it from the TV. John Winchester died in the hospital and Sammy ended up in a coma (for a few months. Dean found that out from the newspapers but it was already too late then).

Nobody knew about Dean and no one cared. He was only eight years old and so terrified that he didn't know what to do.

So he ran.

He ran back then and he was still running; completely lost in his own insanity.

Maybe he wasn't really human anymore but he surely liked being able to feel like one from time to time.

He loved chasing his own physical pleasure when he felt like it; finding himself a pretty little lamb for the night, making the choice if he wanted it to end up bloody this time or not.

He loved the adrenaline.

At least those feelings were normal — primal, natural, human.

And killing gave him power.

In some twisted way, it made him _finally_ feel in control.

 

The kid was panting after all the running but there was no fear in his eyes. It was so obvious that he didn't want to look weak or defeated. Dean really couldn't help but find it adorable.

And fascinating.

He was holding a knife with his left hand; steady, locking the boy between its blade and the cold wall behind his back. The kid wasn't much shorter than him, maybe an inch or two but he was definitely not a strong as Dean was. He looked more like a runway model than a fighter — slim muscles only good for being looked at. Never letting go of the knife, Dean leaned over a little bit to whisper into the boy's ear with a shadow of a smile creeping on his lips. This one was already so good.

"Didn't mommy and daddy tell you not to walk around like that after the sunset?" he said, looking at the teenager's slutty shorts and pretty, long legs.

He was only a little bit surprised by that cold, sharp look in the boy's eyes.

"They didn't really get a chance to," came the cheeky reply and Dean couldn't help but admire that little creature even more. Despite the deadly, hateful look he was getting, he gave him a little smile.

Under all that tough act, he could totally smell the fear but there was also something else there. If it didn't sound this crazy even for him, Dean would probably call it 'fascination'. It was almost like the boy wanted to see how far it would go and what Dean was really capable of.

"Didn't _your_ parents tell you not to hunt down innocent people? To not hold sharp objects to their throats?"

_So fucking sassy in the face of death._

Dean leaned just a few inches backwards, his smile becoming a more sadistic one now; showing off some of the violent urges hidden under his angelic face. He added a little bit of pressure to the knife — just enough to draw some blood.

It was scarlet and perfect and he wanted to trace it with his tongue.

"Sadly, I don't think I remember this lesson," he said with a sad smile, keeping his eyes on the blood running down that slim neck in front of him.

He wanted to eat the kid alive — the teenager's cocky attitude only making it so much better. All he could hear was the boy's heartbeat and shaky little breaths. Even tough there was so much fright in them, his face remained impassive, not showing any sight of those feelings.

"Why don't you tell me, what is your name, baby boy?"

"The real question is, why would I give up any informations about myself to you?"

Dean smirked a little bit.

"You're too smart for your own good, kiddo, really. Come on, it's pretty obvious at this point, isn't it? You've got nothing to lose. I'm not letting you go anyway, promise," Dean said, sealing his words with an erroneous, semi-comforting smile.

There was no witty comeback after that. They were standing in the silence and Dean felt godlike; holding that fragile life in his hands. He could be patient when he wanted.

And he wanted to make it good.

The pretty boy took a deep breath — as deep as possible with someone holding a sharp a knife to your throat — and Dean felt something warm building up inside of him. Pure satisfaction and victory.

"Sam," stuttered the boy, his words barely a whisper, "Winchester."

All of a sudden, the familiar feelings of triumph and power were gone. He was not simply the predator anymore. It took this one moment to drain all the smiles from his face and replace them with shock and disbelief.

_It was just a name. Just a stupid name._

His eyes went ice cold and that was when the kid looked really terrified for the first time.

"Sam, huh?" Dean's voice sounded just as serious as he was looking. "Sam Winchester." The boy swallowed down, clearly getting more and more nervous. How could he except that reaction anyway? "Tell me, Sam, how old are you?"

The sharp blade remained on the teenager's skin, cold and dangerous. Sam tried to calm his breathing a little bit. He stayed silent for a few seconds.

"Uh, seventeen," he blurted out. "Since May."

At that moment, Dean wanted to fucking scream and cry and laugh happily until he would run out of breath.

He had no idea how was that even possible but, somehow, it made sense. His Sammy would turn seventeen this year. Of course he remembered it. Thinking about it now, he could actually see some of his four years old little brother in the kid in front of him. There was just _something_ about him that Dean couldn't really name before. Wasn't it what made him decide to make this one special in the first place?

He found hope in Sam's eyes when they looked at him for the first time; the promise of finally going back home after thirteen years on exile. _Home_.

Those fucking eyes, looking right through his soul.

 Then came the panic.

He _had_ to keep him this time and he was definitely going to but... how? There will be no killing tonight, Dean knew that. He'll make sure to keep that fucking angel safe for the rest of his screwed up life.

He thought about his car, parked about three hundred yards from where they were standing. Not thinking much about what was he doing, with his free hand, he heedlessly reached back to pull his gun from the waist of his jeans. He took a step back, pointing the gun at Sam and then at the area where he had parked his car, nodding in that direction and suggesting the kid to move that way.

"Get in the fucking car," he ordered. "And no tricks."

The seventeen year old nodded his head, trying not to shake in horror. Normally, that kind of strength in the face of danger would make Dean appreciate the boy even more but now he was focused only on getting his brother — oh God, his lovely, long-lost _baby brother_ — in the car. And then, in the motel. Really, he didn't have any other options than using his gun to, let's say, motivate Sam a little bit. Because what if Sammy tried to run away? He couldn't risk that.

He was walking right behind Sam, watching each of his little moves.

"I won't hurt you", Dean tried to reassure, but the boy just snorted at that, shutting his eyes close for a few seconds and, really, who could blame him?

When they got to the car, Dean opened the door for Sam, wanting him in the passenger seat. Sam wasn't resisting and, just for a second, the older Winchester wanted to thank the God he didn't quiet believe in anymore. Still holding the gun, he told Sam to lock his door, knowing that it would take him a while to open it again if he would try to escape.

He only put the weapon back in his jeans when he was finally in the driver's seat and started the engine.

They were driving in silence; Sam looking out the window and Dean glancing at him every few seconds.

Sam clenched his teeth, suddenly letting out all of his bottled up fear, anger and frustration — all his emotions clearly visible on his face in that moment.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" he whispered anxiously, not turning his gaze from the window, as he, probably, wanted to memorize the way.

"I just don't want to lose you ever again, Sammy."

"Shut up, no one calls me that. Besides, what the hell are you talking about? I don't even know you, you freak!" he cried out. "You don't know me!"

Dean gave the angry teen an intense look, never minding the empty road. Sam was getting hysterical.

"Okay, first of all, I really meant what I said before — I'm not going to hurt you. No dying tonight, capiche?" And Sam just fucking snorted. Again. "Second, I do call you that and, yes, we do know each other."

Sam laughed at that. He was on the edge, and so, so close to crying like a baby.

"I don't even know your name, psycho."

They both waited some time, as if it was going to be some kind of a big reveal and, honestly? It kind of was.

"It's Dean," said the older one with a quiet voice, "Winchester."

The shock on Sam's face was as visible as fresh blood under the moonlight. For a minute, Dean tought that they looked almost equally pretty.

Then, the anger was back.

"Don't fuck with me," he yelled but Dean reamained unimpressed by Sam's attitude.

"Thriteen years ago, when you were four, you went out with dad to get the groceries. Some drunk fuck hit you two with his car. Dad died in the hospital and you were in a coma for the next couple of months."

The anger on Sammy's face was slowly fading into shock again, which was slowly fading into disbelief, sadness and desperation. For the first time that night, Sam was _really_ looking like a chid — a broken little boy, longing for the life he couldn't ever quite remember. Dean started looking for his wallet. When he had found it, he took something out of it and threw it at Sam before he began talking again.

It was Dean Winchester's driving ID. Sam felt sick to his stomach.

"I stayed at the motel that day. I was just... terified, you know? I was just a kid, really. Eight years old and left completely alone. Didn't even know what happened to you for the first couple of days. And now? Well, yeah, fuck that gun bullshit but I had no choice! I could not lose you again!"

Sam's voice came of as weak and uncertain; with a crack that broke Dean's long forgotten heart.

"It can't be you... I barely even remember my family, I spent pretty much all my life in the orphanage and... I don't believe it. It just can't _be_." Sam's eyes were getting shiny with tears. They just reached the motel Dean was staying at and he shut down the engine. "And you... You wanted to..."

Sam sounded paranoid. Just on the edge of sanity.

Dean reached out for his little brother, pulling him as close to his chest as he could with the two of them still in their seats.

"Shh, little brother, it's okay. You're mine now, I'm not gonna leave you. Not ever again."

Sam could still feel the memory of the cold blade on his throat.

The gun pointed at him after that.

"You wanted to kill me," he whispered with a weak, broken voice. There was no more fighting, he felt too fragile for that. None of it made sense but the truth was that Dean had no reason to lie.

Sam also had a feeling that Dean being his brother was the only reason he was still breathing.

"No. No, Sammy, I didn't. Come on," Dean assured him, whispering in his hair, "We were just playing a little, right? Having some fun together? No killing, baby, trust me."

Sam could feel Dean's hands on his head; long fingers trying to sooth his anxiety while stroking his hair, oh, so gently. It didn't matter that what Dean just said to him was completely insane. Sam hated himself for that but he couldn't help how he started to relax a little bit into his _brother's_ touch. Dean held him tight, shushing his sobs. They stayed like that for some time.

"Let's get you in the motel, yeah?" the older Winchester said. He gently cupped Sam's face, making him look up at him and he gave his sibling a reassuring smile, "I'll even buy you some Lucky Charms in the morning, okay? I bet you still like those." Dean moved away a little bit. "Whatever you want, okay, baby? Just, please, come with me, Sammy. You're not going to run away, are you?"

And it wasn't even about Dean's intense, serious look. Not really.

Sam knew that he didn't have a choice.

"I won't, Dean. I promise."

 

Sam needed a shower and he just had to _breath_ for a moment. It's not that he was a cry baby, really, but after that night, Sam felt like crying his eyes out (and they were already looking puffy and red).

He didn't really remember his life before the orphanage, he wasn't lying. He had a few memories of his father and an older boy with big, bright eyes and freckles. Sam remembers the freckles because he used to be obssesed with them as a child; trying to count down all these little stars covering his brother's face. He remembers loving and feeling loved but now it was just all _wrong_ and seeing the same freckles again on his grown up big brother's face made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

He had no idea what happened to Dean. Sam was not stupid. He knew that something really, really dark had him in its claws. Sam knew it. And he hated himself for that, but he felt kind of... okay about it.

Let's say that Dean hurt people — there was definitely a lot of things behind it, right? Some reasons. Sam, on the other hand, grew up in a pretty normal way, honestly. The orphanage wasn't ever that bad and even tough he didn't really have a family growing up, he still got to learn about morality and what behaviors were acceptable in the society.

He knew that this whole situation with Dean couldn't be labeled as any of these two.

Dean wasn't full of smiles and Lucky Charms anymore — he was dark and rotten inside and Sam _knew it_ , he could see it, but, somehow, he couldn't get himself to care about morality in that moment. It was fucked up and selfish but, Dean's hands on him? They felt like everything he didn't have for most of his life;

 they felt like home.

Sam got into the shower, turned on the water and let himself feel its warmth washing off some of the fear.

It still wasn't strong enough to wash off any of the guilt and shame he was feeling.

It almost felt like a punishment; every 'innocent' fantasy he ever had coming back to bite him in the ass.

He liked the danger and he didn't mind a little bit of pain. These two made him _feel_ things and it was good to just feel something real for once. He hated his life, most of the time. It wasn't really that bad but it was just so... empty. He had nothing. It all didn't mean anything. Sam liked a little bit of risk and danger, they helped him feel alive.

And, well, wasn't that funny? The masochistic freak, getting kidnapped by his big brother who was probably a killer?

After some time, the water didn't feel that good anymore. He started feeling trapped in the bathroom, thinking about his brother waiting somewhere behind the door. Maybe it wasn't right but it definitely made him feel a whole lot of things. He needed Dean's hands back on him and it didn't matter if they would end up choking him to death in the end.

Also, actually being with Dean in that moment wouldn't make him stress out so much about going out of the bathroom to see the young man again.

He finished washing himself, quickly dried his body with a towel and changed into a clean t-shirt and boxers that his brother gave him.

Somehow, putting on these clothes only made him feel even dirtier.

He stepped out of the bathroom and saw Dean sitting on the bed, rolling the keys to his car in his fingers.

"Come on, Sammy," the older Winchester said when he noticed Sam's presence. He patted on the mattress of his bed.

Sam moved towards him, uncertain about every step he was taking. It felt like he had just learned how to walk. Dean made some space for him on the bed and Sam laid down exactly where his brother wanted him to be. He hid his face in Dean's chest, avoiding having to look him in the face — too afraid. Anxiety was taking over him again and Sam was going insane.

He felt Dean's hand lightly stroking his back and he took a few deep breaths, trying to focuse on keeping his breathing steady.

"I won't hurt you, little brother," Dean whispered, kissing the top of Sam's head.

"But you do hurt people."

It wasn't a question, it was just a statement. A fact.

Sam coud feel Dean thinking; making the decision if he wanted to simply tell him the truth or cover it with pretty lies.

They both knew that there was no point in that. After all, Dean was going to make him another one of his victims just a few hours ago.

The freckled man shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, I guess. I do. But you don't have to worry about it. This is not about you, sweetheart."

Dean sealed his words with another kiss to the top of Sam's head. Honestly, just how weird was that? He was being treated more like a lover than a younger sibling.

For some fucked up reason, he didn't mind it.

It was wrong but it felt good; serial killer confessions making Sam feel at home.

Sam's voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.

"You can't hide it away from me." And again, it was just a fact. "I mean, if you want to... keep me around."

Dean smiled a little at that, pulling Sam even closer.

"No, Sammy, I can't. I just don't want to scare you, I guess. You gotta stay with me, okay? You have to understand that. I _need_  you. I'll make you feel so good, promise. Gonna give you the world but, Sam, you just have to stay with me."

He didn't get to make that choice anyway; Dean's strong arms keeping him close and never letting go, reminding him that he didn't really have to ask.

Sam was his from now on and it wasn't ever up to discussion.

Sam had no idea what the fuck was he doing but he didn't care anymore. So he just went for it.

"I can take it. 'm not a pussy" Sam closed his eyes. He really started questioning his own inteligence because, _oh God, what was he saying?_ "Nothing has ever felt real anyway, you know? I mean, I know that it sounds silly, but... I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want something that would finally feel _real_ — it doesn't have to be pretty" He swallowed down, clearly nervous. "Can you just... make me feel, Dean? Please?"

Somehow, he found the courage to look his brother in the face and now he could see the insanity and darkness peeking at him through this sick, twisted kind of love his brother was giving him; emerald eyes looking at him with longing and hunger that reminded Sam of being chased down like a prey and the feeling of cold steel on his throat.

Big brother's smile making him feel a million different things at once and,

_oh Jesus, Sam had a brother again._

"Whatever you want, baby", Dean said in a deep, husky voice that made Sam wonder if after all these years and growing up apart, getting hard while hearing it still meant that he was a freak; the word 'incest' dancing on the tip of his tongue.

Dean was otherwordly beautiful and Sam decided that he needed those hands _everywhere_.

"Please," he whined and his desperation was only making him feel even more ashamed.

Turns out, Dean Winchester was a pleasing kind of man when he wanted to be, just so, so good at everything he did. It happend so quickly and Sam's head was already spinning when Dean flipped him to his back, climbing on top of him.

"That's what you want?" he growled into Sammy's neck before sucking on it — hard, with a little bit of teeth. "Fuck, baby brother, you're so beautiful. 'Gonna keep you forever. Mark you as mine, so nobody will ever look at you again."

Sam couldn't control the little moans escaping his mouth when Dean's hands got under his shirt.

He was lost in that craziness for a moment; hard as a rock and just so _desperate_.

The boy gasped at the sudden wave of pleasure caused by the feeling of his brother's hard-on on Sam's own erection.

It only took him a few short minutes to come in the borrowed boxers he was wearing (but was he ever going to even see any of his actual clothes, anyway? was he ever going home again?).

Sam was a vrigin; now desecrated by pure sin. Big brother's touch making him dirty — condemning him for damnation and hellfire.

There was no guilt related to that. Or maybe he just didn't care.

Suddenly, he was feeling very tired. The last thing that he heard before falling asleep being Dean's mellow voice and the words of a promise whispered between passionate kisses to the teenager's neck:

"I'm gonna make you happy, little brother."

  
   Sam dreamt of blood and taboo romance that night.

He dreamt of strong hands choking him goodnight and angel face looking down at him with the promise of eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> I promised you something more for this verse, so here we are! Tbh I'm very self-conscious about this story. I've never written anything /that/ long in english.  
> Hope you liked it anyway! ♡


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